


Survivor's Guilt

by Caryopsis



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caryopsis/pseuds/Caryopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jessica could’ve drugged him last night, could’ve put it in the food she brought. It would’ve been so easy. But even if she didn’t admit it, she wanted to be a hero. And heroes always tried to show the villains another way.</p><p>Kilgrave could’ve killed everyone she cared about. He could’ve killed <i>her</i>. God knows she deserved it after she left him to die. But he would do anything just to have her again, never mind her petty notions of redemption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Make it Right, Jones

Jessica learned early on that it was either you were the bully, or you were the victim.

_Mark said I was ugly again today. That asshole. He told everyone I was an alien because my eyes were big enough to be planets._

She took another swig as she flipped through the pages of her journal. Mark may have been asshole, but another kind of monster was sleeping just a few rooms over.

_“You guys, the alien has a crush on me. Ew, she won’t stop staring at me!”_

She ran her fingers over her girlish scrawl as she chugged the last of Kilgrave’s fancy wine.

_Mom says I shouldn’t get mad at bullies because they’re all just insecure. She says a real hero would try to help Mark._

Thirteen-year-old Jessica would be disgusted to see how she’d grown up. The only thing she was helping now was herself. To another bottle.

_Dad says I can be a hero._

She stumbled out her room and down the stairs, feeling for the railings in the dark. This was why she preferred day drinking.

Just as she made it to the dining room, she heard something shuffling. Then the lights came on.

Alva had one hand on the switch and the other on a steak knife, positioned right by her jugular.

“He told me not to let you leave,” she said, lip trembling.

Shit.

“I just came down to get something to drink,” Jessica said, holding her hands up as she approached Alva. 

The steak knife clattered to the floor, bringing beads of blood with it. 

Alva sank to her knees, trembling. “Please, don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” Jessica said, wiping the blood off Alva’s neck with her sleeve. The poor woman could hardly steady herself. “You probably need a drink more than I do.”

Moments later, Jessica had procured a bottle of Kilgrave’s finest red. 

“That bastard needs to start stocking some whiskey if he wants me to stay,” Jessica said. She hoped her humor would make Alva smile.

It didn’t.

Jessica poured them both a glass. “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” she said. It was the best she could offer, same as the little girl a few days before.

Finally, Alva turned to face her. “Sorry? He does this all for you. This is your fault.”

Jessica inhaled sharply. But she deserved that, didn’t she? Every person Kilgrave terrorized since coming back was a pawn he used get to her. Every corpse and every choice they couldn't make, it was all on her.

“I’m going to make this right,” Jessica said. She took the bottle and Alva’s untouched glass as she made her way back upstairs.

\---

Her head was throbbing. But even before she opened her eyes, she knew the devil was there.

“My, Jessica,” Kilgrave said. He didn’t even look up from the pages of her journal as he sat cross-legged at her old study desk. “Your foul mouth developed at quite an early age, didn’t it?”

She rubbed her eyes open. “Get the hell out of my room.”

“What? But it’s our first day of heroism! I thought you might want to get started early, well, seeing as two in the afternoon is early for you.”

She crushed the empty bottle by her bed in one hand. Before he could react, she had thrown him to the wall and brought a shard to his throat. “I’m not a morning person.”

“I’d be much more intimidated if you didn’t smell like yesterday’s rubbish,” he scoffed, choking out the words under her arm.

There was a thud downstairs.

“Oh, and there’s that,” he said.

Jessica bounded down the stairs to find Alva and Laurent banging their heads against the doorway. Over and over, they collided with the wall until the etches marking her height were written in red.

She used an arm each to grab them by the waist, her strength barely enough to restrain their movement.

Kilgrave sauntered leisurely before them, arms folded.

“Make them stop!” Jessica screamed at him. They began to bang their heads at each other.

“As soon as you apologize for your little tantrum upstairs,” Kilgrave said. “Well, I suppose I should’ve expected that. You’ve always been an animal in the bedroom.”

Something broke inside of Jessica. In the corner of her eye, she spotted the steak knife Alva had dropped the night before.

_“He does this all for you.”_

In a single, blinding movement, she released the house staff, picked up the knife, and positioned it below her ribs.

Kilgrave's eyes widened. “What are you doing? Stop!”

Alva and Laurent took the command and stilled completely. But Jessica began to press the point of the knife to her torso.

It took her all of a moment to catch on. “Asshole. You can’t control me anymore,” she said, a savage threat in her voice.

“Jessica, don’t be ridiculous,” Kilgrave said, barely hiding his discomfort.

“You think I wouldn’t do it?” The blade hardly even stung as it began to draw blood.

“I think you fancy yourself a hero. And a hero wouldn’t abandon these poor people.”

“I’m no hero.”

“You wouldn’t leave Hope all alone in prison. Oh, and Patsy! You know I could find them in minutes. Have them all to myself, for the rest of their lives.”

If inside, Jessica faltered, she didn’t show it. She’d had enough of Kilgrave’s games, his threats. After all he’d taken from her, she was going to take the only thing he ever wanted.

“See you in Hell.”

She sank the knife in.

\---

_“Stay here and watch the telly, Jessica. I’ll be back soon.”_

Jessica knew it was one of his more harmless commands, but she felt powerless all the same.

_“Have your lunch, Jessica. Put on the white dress, Jessica. Wish me good night, Jessica.”_

She may as well have been a child, or a dog, or a doll. Kilgrave had taken to directing every aspect of her life. Lounging on a luxurious leather couch, eyes glued to a wide screen, there was nothing but a mannequin. Even when she was alone, she wasn’t. Because there was always his command.

“Eskrima, originating in the Philippines, is a fight style that incorporates the use of sticks or knives,” the narrator of the documentary droned on. “Masters of the art emphasize the importance of mental concentration in the quest to gain full control of the body.”

She scoffed. She’d like to see them try and control their bodies around Kilgrave.

As the program continued, she tested the limits of Kilgrave’s latest command. She found she could work around it, sometimes, if he didn’t word things precisely, and if she stayed lucid.

When he said to stay here he could’ve meant the couch. Or he could’ve meant the apartment. And when he said to watch the telly, he didn’t say she couldn’t do other things, too.

And so Jessica stood up and began mimicking the strikes demonstrated on screen, using the remote for her knife. It may have looked ridiculous, but she took solace in knowing she could do something, _anything_ , that wasn’t what Kilgrave had told her. She pictured him standing there, powerless as she slashed his face apart.

“A true practitioner of knife fighting knows where to sink his blade,” the narrator continued. “If the fighter wishes only to maim, and not kill, there are certain areas in the body he can exploit…”

Jessica gripped the remote with resolve. In her hands, anything could become a weapon.

\---

“She’s awake! What kind of doctors are you? Get in here and help her!”

Her vision was bleary, but Jessica was sure there were at least twenty doctors and nurses clamoring about her hospital bed. Apparently Kilgrave’s shouting had reached half the staff on their floor.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Jessica said hoarsely as she sat up. Just as she said it, a wave of pain keeled her over, radiating from the heavily bandaged area under her ribs. She could tell from the bedside clock that she’d been out more than a day.

An anxious Kilgrave was seated not a foot away, his suit and hair slightly rumpled. “Let them work on the other patients,” she told him.

“For God’s sake, Jessica, you nearly died, and you’re worried about some prissies getting nose jobs?” he asked.

She took in the spacious, well-decorated room. After a year of detective work, observation came naturally to her. “This is the cancer ward."

“The people here are dying, anyway,” he scoffed. “You and I, however, still have a long life of crime-fighting ahead of us.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Fine, fine, attend to your other patients,” he said, waving off the crowd of doctors.

“I knew it wouldn’t kill me,” she told him as they left. That was a lie; she’d taken a bold risk. She thanked whatever higher being there was for not letting her leave Trish and Hope just yet.

“Couldn’t spare a moment to inform me, eh?” Kilgrave quipped.

“Well that would take half the fun.”

“Jesus, and you think _I’m_ sadistic.”

Jessica huffed. “Says the man who made the household help bash their heads in.”

“I’ve sent them home,” Kilgrave said, arranging his tie.

“What?”

“Alva and Laurent have returned to their respective lives of mediocrity, fully intact. Well, save a few head wounds,” he said expectantly.

“Like hell I believe that.”

“Hank will drive us by their places before we go home,” he said, very matter-of-fact. He took a pause before his next words. “I realize having servants made you uncomfortable. I can’t imagine why, of course, but I suppose it’s just another sacrifice I’ll have to make for love.”

“Having servants doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Having threatened slaves does.” 

“Christ, not even a thank you?” 

“You don’t thank someone for helping you when they were the one to screw you over in the first place.” This was one of those things Jessica thought you didn’t have to tell anyone.

“I don’t suppose you’ll be thanking me for saving your life, then?”

Jessica hadn’t considered it. He could’ve left her for dead, it was true, but he couldn’t lose his prized possession, the one and only thing he longed for. She knew his obsession with her was her last bargaining chip. 

“Maybe one day you’ll deserve it.” It was hardly a whisper. She couldn’t look him in the eye; she didn’t mean it. She didn’t even know if she hoped for it. Her every basic instinct wanted him dead. But that wasn’t what Trish would do, wasn’t how her parents would make it right.

Kilgrave fell silent.

His curious gaze was cut short when Hank entered, holding a tall paper bag.

“Sir, Alva left this for Jessica,” Hank said, handing the bag to Kilgrave before leaving.

“I suppose you’ve thought to check for bombs this time, Hank?” he intoned.

Jessica grabbed the bag off his hands and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. There was a note attached.

_Thank you._


	2. Bullies

By the time they were halfway home, Jessica was just as far along her whiskey. There she was, in the back of a Bentley with Kilgrave, where just a year ago she would’ve had her head on his chest as he stroked her hair. Now she retreated to the very edge of the seat, legs and face turned to her window, looking for all the world like she was in a music video by one of those awful bands whose posters decorated her room.

Kilgrave stared at the place where her lips touched the bottle. He’d lost sleep worrying he might never see them smile again. God, the things she did to him. “Yesterday you stab your stomach; today you assault your liver. Have you any concern for your health, Jessica?”

Night had fallen and traffic made sure the scenery was unchanging, but she continued to stare outside. “Alcoholism is the only superpower that trumps mind control,” she stated. 

He’d always loved her wit, her jarring ability to be sharp and endearing at once. “As long as you don’t hurt yourself again, darling. Your lovely neighbors would probably kill themselves in grief.”

She still wouldn’t face him. “Of course. You let Alva and Laurent go, then you graduate to threatening an entire suburb,” she said.

Still so prickly. He’d saved her life, he’d released the servants, he’d even paid, actually _paid_ , for her hospital bill -- now she expected him to just forego his safety? 

“Like I said, this is all just until we’ve built some trust.” He tried his best to calm her down. She would see things his way soon enough. “Jessica, please look at me.”

Hesitantly, she obliged. He had no real reason to ask her to do that. He could’ve told her what he said next without seeing her face, but he did so desperately want to witness her smile. “I’ve got a surprise for you waiting at home,” he said excitedly.

Her reaction wasn’t quite what he expected. Her lips moved and her breath hitched, but for some reason, her eyes looked almost terrified.

\---

“You can open your eyes now, darling.”

Kilgrave could hardly contain his excitement as he led Jessica by the hand down the red-carpeted aisles of Carnegie Hall, completely empty except for the two of them. Well, and the shabby-looking men on stage. What were their names again? Leave it to his Jessica to have the most obscure taste in music.

“Surprise! Happy anniversary,” he said to her as they took their seats front and center. He kissed her hand as he whispered for her to say it back, with a smile.

“Happy anniversary,” she told him, her beautiful lips drawing up at the corners.

He was so, so happy. It shocked him how much their five months together had changed him. Never before had there been anyone he would have indulged like this. Jessica had made him a new man.

“I worked hard on this. Fifteen recording studios before I found someone who knew your favorite band. Can you imagine? Fifteen,” he chuckled.

At Kilgrave's cue, the music played for hours. He wondered what Jessica liked about this awful ruckus. He’d made them practice all day before they’d gotten there, so he assumed that this was how they were _supposed_ to sound. Perhaps he should’ve let them eat? 

He sighed. The things he did for love.

“How do you find this music enjoyable?” Kilgrave asked her jokingly.

“I don't,” Jessica answered. Her voice was soft and pitifully sad.

Immediately, he felt his temper flare up. An entire day’s effort, and this is how she responds? He emptied the greatest concert hall, and she doesn't offer a peep of appreciation?

Just as he was about to chastise her, he followed her line of sight to the guitarist’s fingers. He hadn’t seen that the man was bleeding. Jesus, what amateurs!

“Stop it! Stop playing!” Kilgrave shouted. They didn’t seem to hear his command over the music.

He stormed up the stage and stole the mic off the lead singer’s hands. “For the love of God, shut up!” 

Now there was only Kilgrave’s voice ringing out in the vast hall. That was better. “Worthless, the lot of you. You’ve got all of one fan on this planet, and you couldn’t even please her.”

He glanced at Jessica. She looked positively horrified, and rightfully so. These men had ruined their anniversary.

“Get out and find some shitty pub to play at,” he told them. “Oh, and break a leg!”

The sorry fools shuffled out immediately. Jessica looked so angry from her seat. Those men were lucky he'd told her not to use her powers. 

“Jessica, darling, care to join me?" he called, extending his hand.

She was an absolute vision as she held up the sides of her evening gown, the picture of grace floating up the steps of the stage to take his hand.

"Sorry about them, love. Please don't be upset,” he told her. As the sharpness faded from her expression, he traced the backs of his fingers down her cheek. 

She was stunning under the stage lights, her sparkling black dress bringing out all the right curves. The concert may have been a failure, but they still had Carnegie all to themselves.

His lips ghosted over her cheek, then her jaw. “Let me make it up to you,” he whispered into her neck.

\--- 

Kilgrave unlocked the door and led Jessica inside. Poor thing was trying not to show how much pain she was in, but he saw the way she wrapped her arms around her injured area.

Surely, this would cheer her up.

They made their way to the living room, where a rather pot-bellied man in a plaid shirt and cargo shorts was helping himself to a beer on their couch.

Kilgrave gestured. “Jessica, allow me to re-introduce you to our guest-–”

“Mark Bosner,” Jessica said. Was that horror in her voice? Christ, how badly had this waste of a man hurt her?

Mark stood up. “Heeey, Jessie! Been a long time! How are you?”

Jessica ran to him and knocked the beer can out of his hands. “Don’t eat or drink anything he gives you,” she told him, casting a sidelong glance at Kilgrave.

Kilgrave surveyed the giant beer stain that now decorated the couch he’d worked so hard to find. That would stink for days. “Was she always this melodramatic?” he asked Mark.

“Don’t I know it! She was that one emo kid in class. We thought she _dyed_ hair black,” Mark laughed. He turned to Jessica. “Jessie, relax. Your man’s a real nice guy. He said you got into an accident, so he was looking for some of your old friends to cheer you up.”

“You need to get out of here now,” she told him. Ah, she didn’t correct him on the boyfriend bit? Kilgrave knew this was a good idea.

“No, no, stay!” he told Mark.

“I’ll stay,” Mark repeated.

Kilgrave gestured for Jessica to sit opposite their guest. “He’s only getting what he deserves,” he whispered. "He won't get hurt if you behave.” 

Tentatively, she took a seat.

Kilgrave paced the room. He knew she was going to enjoy this. And so would he. “So, Mark, you feature quite prominently in Jessica’s old private journal,” he said. “Any idea why?”

The man actually scratched his head. “Not sure, Mr. Kilgrave. We weren’t really close.”

Jessica was trying to keep stony-faced as always, but Kilgrave could see the tightness of her fist. And she was right to be angry: her tormentor couldn’t even remember the pain he’d inflicted!

“Well,” Kilgrave said, “I suggest you think a little _harder_.”

The pot-bellied fool took on that glassy look they always did. Jessica was trembling; how badly he must’ve hurt her.

“Were you really friends with her, Mark? Tell me honestly, now.”

“I bullied her.”

“A bully? How awful!” Kilgrave intoned. “Don’t you think bullies deserve to be reprimanded?”

“Yes,” Mark replied.

“I agree! So how about you list down every horrible thing you did to sweet little Jessica, and we work out the appropriate punishments?”

Jessica shot Kilgrave a curious look. He did love seeing her puzzled like that, the way she got when she wasn’t in control.

“I called her names behind her back,” Mark said.

“Oh, dear, a slanderer," Kilgrave said with a gasp. "Call yourself every name you called her, and mean it."

As if he were a child throwing a tantrum, Mark’s lips puckered and his eyebrows scrunched together. “I am a bug-eyed alien. I am an uptight emo skank. I am a skinny little bitch,” he chanted. 

And then Kilgrave saw something he could hardly believe. It was only a split second, but he could’ve sworn the corner of Jessica’s mouth lifted. He was ecstatic.

“Well go on, then, you skinny little bitch,” Kilgrave prodded.

“I gave her swirlies,” Mark continued.

“Jesus, children are such savages,” Kilgrave mused. “Right then, off to the loo with you. Make sure you piss in it before you dunk your head in.”

They headed to the bathroom. “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I said I wanted you to use your powers for good,” Jessica told him.

“Admit it, you’re enjoying this,” Kilgrave replied.

She watched Mark flush his own head in the toilet. “I’m a piece of shit,” she said.

She was holding back a laugh. Jessica, laughing! The thought was almost enough to make Kilgrave flush his own head in.

“Dry yourself off and apologize to Jessica,” Kilgrave commanded.

The bully was absolutely pitiful as he stood up and faced her. “I’m sorry, Jessica.”

“I forgive you,” she replied.

What? Just like that? Here was the very man who had ruined her childhood, and she pardons him with no more than a moment’s hesitation! How many times had Kilgrave apologized to her –- for things he hadn’t even intended -– only to be rebutted and humiliated?

“Surely you’ve done more awful things to Jessica?” Kilgrave asked.

“That’s enough,” she said. “We’ve had our fun. Let him go.”

“There’s something she doesn’t know,” Mark said.

“Do tell,” Kilgrave said.

“I actually had the biggest crush on her,” Mark replied. He had the stupidest grin plastered across his face. “Sometimes I still jack off to it.”

A tidal wave of anger crashed over Kilgrave. Just the thought of this pig laying eyes on an innocent Jessica, unable to defend herself before she gained her strength, was enough to send him over the edge. “You sick little prat.”

Jessica, always the bleeding heart, grabbed Mark by the arm and rushed him toward the front door. She was wincing as she did it; her stab wound was still raw. She was too kind for her own good. 

“Go to the kitchen and grab a knife, Mark,” Kilgrave called out.

He could hear the struggle as he followed them there. Jessica was tossing any number of silverware to the floor as she stole them out of Mark’s hands. The buffoon just kept emptying their drawer.

“Jessica, you’re hurt, please get out of the way,” Kilgrave told her.

“Let him go!” she screamed, yanking Mark’s hands out of the way.

“What was it you called yourself, Mark? A bug-eyed alien? Why don't you carve your eyes out and look the part,” Kilgrave said off-handedly. That way he'd never look at her again.

As Mark lifted a knife to his brow, Jessica grabbed him by the shirt and slammed his head into the floor. He was knocked out cold.

“Never any fun with you,” Kilgrave pouted.

Jessica stalked toward him with her eyes narrowed to slits. God, why was she always angry?

“When he wakes up, you are going to undo your order and send him home thinking this was all some weird-ass prank,” she said.

“And why would I do that? That man is clearly a deviant.”

“I don’t give two shits about what he does in private.”

“Doesn't it make you feel _violated_?” She so often used that word to describe how she felt around him.

Jessica’s fists tightened a vein pulsed at her neck. “Do you even hear yourself?” she shouted.

“This man deserves every–-”

“You write off Mark as some kind of evil bully when you’re _just like him_. You can’t have me, so you hurt me, you torture me, you try to make me feel worthless." The way she said it, it was as if she had to grind the words out her throat. "Except you have the one power that made sure no one ever told you.”

“Don’t preach your morality bullshit at me. I saw how much you enjoyed watching him make a fool of himself.”

He expected her to give him one of her hard looks, one of those trademark I-don't-give-a-shit glares she got as she threw her insults. Instead, the face she showed him was utterly broken. 

“Look,” she said. “I know I’m a horrible human being. So are you. And I don’t give a damn how you try to justify this to yourself. But leave me out of it, because I’m actually trying to get better.”

Jessica didn’t have to touch him to make him feel like he’d been punched in the gut. 

She winced. Her wound must’ve reopened -- the red was coming in blots through her shirt. He wanted so badly to comfort her, to fix her. But before he reached out to touch her arm, he thought better of it.


End file.
